


That Kriffin' Gold Bikini

by Webtrinsic



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alcohol, Anger, Angry Kanan Jarrus, Bib Fortuna takes over after Jabba, Blind Kanan Jarrus, Dissociation, F/M, Forced Cohabitation, Hera Syndulla Needs A Hug, Hurt Hera Syndulla, I basically redid the saving slave Leia scene with Hera, Kanan Jarrus Lives, Kidnapping, No Sex, Not Canon Compliant, Panic Attacks, Post-Jabba's Palace (Star Wars), Protective Kanan Jarrus, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slave Trade, Survival Horror, Team as Family, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Triggers, Twi'lek Dancers, Twi'leks (Star Wars), not timeline compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28461795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Webtrinsic/pseuds/Webtrinsic
Summary: Hera's done less to survive, it doesn't make forcibly dancing in a golden bikini in Bib Fortuna's cantina any easier.
Relationships: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla
Comments: 9
Kudos: 39





	That Kriffin' Gold Bikini

**Author's Note:**

> this is random but i was like i needed angry protective kanan and since twi'leks already have the background i decided to redo the slave leia scene- mainly had this idea also because the boba fett credit scene, idk what the blue twi'lek's name is so i just started calling her telipa

All Hera knows how to do is fight so her captors do not take her easy. She goes kicking and punching until a well placed blow hit’s the back of her head and she’s carted off. Her Jedi and the rest of her spectre’s in pursuit. 

But they do not manage to catch up, and no one is more upset with that fact than the love of her life. Kanan howls, ripping through the bustling crowds, seconds away from force pushing the masses blocking his way.

Zeb barrels through, knocking them down with his stocky shoulders while Sabine takes to the air in flight and Ezra is nearly trampled by the crowd. The kids aren’t thinking of why these mobsters are taking their captain, more focused on they're taking their captain. But Kanan knows, Zeb knows, and it is why they are bustling with frantic fervor.

Driving closer and closer to the tented heads and the flashes of green Zeb sees in the distance while Kanan follows the force. A cart is pushed out by some vendor, trinkets and baubles decorating the floor so that when Zeb’s foot makes contact, his ankle snaps to the side and he can’t continue his chase, no matter how badly he wants to.

Kanan leaps, overwhelmed at the bustle, it grates his being. So terribly upset he cannot focus on the force even though he knows he must if he wants to get his hands on these sleemos and bring Hera back to the Ghost. Instead of the force, Kanan finds it easier to follow the sound of Sabine's jetpack.

He will not lose her this way, he refuses to. Kanan will pull her from their dead arms if need be. It’s not exactly what he wants to do, he’s never truly had any malice in his heart, but he loves Hera, and now with her in evil clutches, he will brave the dark with the chance of falling in it. 

A warning pit in the force beats like a drum and he’s forced to halt, another cart being pushed into his path that surely would have broken something or knocked the wind out of him if he’d crashed into it. It’s that split second of rerouting that lets the bastards get away, taking Hera with them.

* * *

When she wakes she’s in a new outfit, one that leaves so much of her skin exposed she shivers with the cold. Shivers with a debilitating fear, and the blue Twi’lek looking down at her solemnly as she ties the remaining strands on her brown headpiece, the ribbons that normally would travel like a garter down her lekku solid gold, don't make her feel any better. 

The same gold that act’s as a bikini on her body, there is fabric luckily in the chest region, and attached to the bottoms was a long maroon not quite skirt that left the lengths of her sinewy legs exposed.

They don’t exchange words, and Hera doesn’t fault the other woman, and if she did have any ill will it couldn’t possibly be towards the woman with manacles resting around her neck and wrist. Hera’s anger is reserved for her captors, and it must show in her eyes because the blue Twi’lek looks concerned, for her. 

It makes Hera rethink her plan to attack, the music that hit’s her as the door opens tells her the place is crowded. It’s more than apparent she alone will not be able to escape, let alone fight. She’ll have to wait for Kanan and her crew. As bad as it is to say, let alone think, she’s never been more grateful for Kanan’s blindness because it would kill her for him to see her this way. Shackled and put on display. 

A shameful blush bloomed across her viridescent skin at the absolute horror of the kids or Zeb happening upon her in such a way. It was likely her rescue would be just as atrocious as the time she would spend here. If she didn’t suck up her pride, she wouldn’t survive, and then who would watch after her ghost crew?

 _It’s for your family_. She insists as a hooded figure steps in, holding matching chains, and the other Twi’lek watches with trepidation as Hera reluctantly let’s the gold snap and lock to her flesh.

The Rutian Twi’lek let out a breath she was holding before the chain on her own collar was attached again and the two were pulled out into the cantina as if they were nothing more than pets. It’s not far from the truth it would seem.

Immediately Hera is assaulted with hollers and hundreds of watchful eyes, in her only available act of defiance, Hera keeps her head held high. But even that act is taken as something to fawn over. They see confidence in her new station when really she’s just trying to stay strong so she doesn’t ultimately fall apart. It is not uncommon for her to be gawked at, even within her baggy and more than modest flight suit. Now the stares have never been more pressing and the words in the air nearly break her resolve.

“I remember when Jabba had a pretty green Twi’lek like her, fell real good into that rancor pit. Let’s hope this one knows to keep dancing,” 

“She wears that piece better than that princess did,” Hera’s brow nearly furrows in confusion at that, but she’s too stubborn to show any weakness, especially so soon. 

“You ever find it funny that even the male Twi’leks know to keep their woman in chains?” 

Even the blue Twi’lek twitches at that, her face suddenly brightening as she falls into her role. Telipa's chain slackens, falling to the ground as the hooded figure let’s the Rutian go, already knowing her role as she saunter’s up to a wide throne where a pastel pink gluttonous Twi’lek claps his staff onto the ground happily at her arrival.

“Splendid, a princess of my own,” he’s speaking huttese and Hera is revolted at the mushy and vile behemoth of man. (If she could even call him that.) It was dishonorable. The hooded man, who she could now see was a Weequay, tugged her almost off her feet towards the throne. 

For today all she had to do is sit by Bib Fortuna’s side, on the dias where the length of her chain was attached at two points, one on the side of the man’s throne so he could tug it if he wanted and another on the ground where she sat, keeping her from fully rising unless Bib Fortuna allowed it.

* * *

Telipa, the blue Twi’lek had been a compassionate teacher, slowing her usual dance down so that Hera could keep up a mimic her movements. She’d never learned to dance, especially in this way, her hips stiff and new to the hypnotic rotations they were forced to adjust to.

She was picking it up easier than she thought she would, and the random comment by her...supposed new master about her being born for it didn’t help. Her mind numbs, the clinking of her chains rhythmic, a pendulum, pulling her away from her body as she moves, feeling as if she was watching the scene around her from an aerial view.

She must survive.

* * *

With it being a cantina, always bustling, Hera’s starting to lose the feeling of day and night. She is exhausted as she is forced to wait on tables, dance, and even sitting seductively is draining her spirit.

Her vocal chords are raw, the minute Bib Fortuna had heard her speak, along with the other dealers he made dealings with, they instructed her to speak more. Claiming her sultry commanding tone was intoxicating, and although flirting had always come easy to her (because it always was with Kanan) she had to hold back her bile as she sweet talked these sleemos.

_This is for her family. They are coming. They will not abandon her here to such a fate._

It’s a mantra that stays mostly the same in her head, repeated until they are ad nauseum, intrinsic in her mind even when the monotony of her days wears at her resolve. She has to be compliant because now she knows what may happen if she does not. She knew they’d kill her but now after a drunken arms dealer spilled beer on her chest, her instinct to sputter indignantly was cut off as he suddenly sombered into an angry beast, yanking her face a mere inch away from his own, sneering:

“None of that sweetheart or you’re gonna end up just like Oola,” his eyes shift to the pit in the front of the throne, the pit that she’s sadly seen in action. She’d been so tired, she hadn’t even realized what had happened to the man making a case to Bib before he was in the ground and there was a decedent roar that hurt to listen to.

Many of the cantina’s patrons had swarmed the opening, looking in, and Bib’s body had been heavy behind her as he gripped her arm, making sure she watched as the Rancor emerged from it’s cage and devoured the man with a sickening crunch of bones.

It had been a threat, one she knows now that has been carried out before. Hera hopes the other green Twi’lek Oola who had fallen victim to that terrible fate was resting peacefully now. Free from this indignity.

* * *

Still she can’t tell if it’s night but her body is begging her to stay down, and although she is used to the quiet of space, she’d put up with enough of Ezra and Zeb’s arguing to put up with some noise as she slept, so the Twi’lek splayed her body out in the way that was encouraged with treats and often a glass of alcohol that she appreciated, found herself drifting off to on the stiff dias.

Hera doesn’t know if she’ll be in trouble, if they’ll wake her, but her vision is blurring black. She needs to rest, and no matter how noisy the cantina is, she must sleep. She doesn’t see the Weequay guard inform her rest to her master, and Bib Fortuna takes in her form with a sense of satisfaction, letting her dream.

This is what he wanted, acceptance, and there's no better acceptance than rest where her unconscious mind is forced to rely on his protection. Telipa looks over from the bar, finishing up her rounds, taking in the sight before coming over, taking this time to rest as well. 

Bib Fortuna sits straighter, a god as his next client comes to meet him, a man unknown but with a deal he is desperate to hear.

* * *

Zeb stands before the throne and Twi’lek splayed goddesses, and he is more than considerate to avert his eyes from his captain when he realizes it truly is her in front of him, wrapped in a ornate outfit that left very little to the imagination.

He didn’t have to be a jedi to sense her fatigue, it’s obvious with how deeply she sleeps with the noise around her. Even her breathing is deep, but as far as he can see she isn't injured, and that’s what the crew needs to hear.

Bib Fortuna takes his deal with a wave of his hand, displaying his power with his armed guards at his side.

“Do not fail me,” as he talks his kowakian monkey-lizard inches forward to the lasat, scoping him out, crawling over the blue twi’lek all the way until he’s sitting on Hera’s chest, her only reaction was the slightest scrunch of her nose.

“I will not,” Zeb lies, knowing he had a lot to report to the crew. Their resident Jedi would very likely be angry and Zeb knows that is a slippery slope. Zeb knows he is strong, could possibly lose control and yank Hera from her bondage now and just run, but he’s no wookie, and with all guns pointed at him he can’t do anything now to spare Kanan from potential rage. So Zeb goes on his way.

* * *

“Did you see her?” three voices jump out at once, and Zeb awkwardly rubs the back of his neck. 

“She’s alright, no physical injuries that I could see,” his voice is stunted and the way he tries to awkwardly look at the kids in a way that means he has more to say but shouldn’t with them in the room doesn’t compute accounting to Kanan’s blindness. He forgot about that for a second.

Thankfully the Jedi can pick up on the unease and gently grips the kids shoulders, silently nudging them back towards their rooms. He knows they want to argue with the way their body’s tense as if to refute him, but the look on his face must display something that causes them to back off because they head to their quarters. Neither of the men start to speak until they hear the clicking of both doors.

“Really how was she?” 

“Exhausted,” a more than accurate statement. 

Kanan’s face pinches, “There’s more you’re not telling me,”

“She’s chained up, right up front. Can’t miss her really,” The Jedi tenses, waiting, or seething, Zeb’s not entirely sure, “She was asleep when I got in, maybe she was drugged or drunk, I don’t know,”

Zeb can see the man’s teeth pull, and it’s like he’s chewing glass to get his next sentence out, “He’s got her in her undergarments,” the ship twinges and a cup on the table shatter’s into a million pieces. Zeb figures it will be him picking up the pieces. 

The jedi walks away without so much as a word, heading to his barely used quarters and retrieving a black hood and his lightsaber. 

It’s time to go get Hera.

* * *

The air in the cantina is terse when he steps through the doors, he follows the force, feeling _his_ twi'lek’s signature. It’s lucid if a little weary, twinged with adrenaline as if something had spooked her awake. Considering there is the sound of sweeping glass ringing in his ears, he’s willing to bet a few rowdy patrons had done just that. 

Hera feels the air shift, her eyes more often than not drifting to the door, wishing it would be someone, anyone, from her crew to come and rescue her. She’d been here far too long to even care who saw her if it meant she could go home.

After she’d likely panic and wallow if it was one of the kids, it’d been painful regardless of who it was but she was growing desperate. But now her breath catches in her throat because she knows that beard peeking out from under that midnight hood.

_**Kanan.** _

It’s a miracle she doesn’t say it out loud, she barely catches herself, she almost cries.

His presence puts everyone on edge, and it’s obvious he’s caught Bib and his guards attention. The chain around her and Telipa’s neck is pulled, her body moving up so it was pressed against the back of the step. 

Concern oozes from Hera and he can’t fully pinpoint why, Kanan reaches through the force, searching until he feels the problem. The ground under his feet is hollow but he doesn’t get the chance to move.

“I’m here to liberate your Twi’lek’s,” Kanan answers, and Hera must have blanked out, so focused on Kanan she hadn’t realized Bib had asked him what he was doing there. A shiver runs down her spine, and the timber in her lover's voice is daunting. It puts everyone on edge, but she doesn’t feel their fear. In fact she’s almost giddy. If these people were attracted to her voice, she was infatuated with Kanan’s.

Bib laughs and every gun in the place is on Kanan who pulls his lightsaber from his belt, startling them all and chaos erupts. Telipa is immediately trying to dive off the side of the dias, covering her head, blaster’s are being shot and deflected by his sabers telling whoosh, and Hera sees it in slow motion as Bib’s hand moves to press the trap doors trigger.

“Kanan!” she shouts, and he listens, back flipping into the air. Although she’s saved him, she’d made the mistake of letting them know why and who he’s actually here for. A boot slams into the back of her shoulders, sending her over the edge and into the pit. It’s instinct and luck that has her arms reaching up to clamp onto the chain so her weight wouldn’t snap her neck, nearly leaving her a hanging meal for the Rancor that is still waiting behind it’s doors.

Her arms shake with strain, the feeling familiar, she’d flown enough to get used to resistance but after her week of being there it’s harder and harder to keep her grip. It’s not a problem for long because a shot breaks the chain and she falls.

The impact forces the little air in her out, and when she lifts her head she comes face to face with a cracked skull. It isn’t like her to scream, but Oola’s name, her story, lives in her now. So when her mind morphs that skull into a green face that nearly mirrors her own, Hera wails.

She breaks and she cries, tears littering her face, the week flashing in her mind like a series of bad dreams. Sitting on sleazy men’s laps, letting alcohol be poured down her breast, dancing so sensually the intimacy in the act was forever lost, the foul lies that left her lips in the tone of a lover. She wanted to forget it all.

It’s a mental breakdown that probably resembles a tantrum as she grabs her lekku, squeezing so tightly pain laces throughout her being. It doesn’t compare to the storm within. So much so she misses the way her body floats up and out, startling at the big meaty arms wrapping around her, tentatively pulling her hands away from her bruising lekku.

She can’t breathe, she can’t think, it’s too much, the noise, the lights, the commotion. Kanan seems to know this as he lifts her into a bridal carry, rushing from the building where the ghost awaits.

Kanan shudders at the tears being pressed to his throat, the calluses on his fingers taking in so much skin his stomach knots, not in a good way. His grip tightens, and he’s sequestering himself and Hera in their room before the rush of footsteps can catch up.

He feels his padawan’s worry and the half hearted wave of assurance he sends back doesn’t lessen the boy’s horror. Kanan knows the crew is worried, he also knows Hera wouldn’t want to be seen this way, that and he thinks Hera might absolutely lose her mind if confronted with anymore stimulation. Utilizing the force rather than trying to cut the manacles off, Kanan places the gold onto the bedside table softly so they don't make a clinking sound. The frantic and frightened waves radiating off her deter him from trying to take the bikini itself off, afraid she’d end up swinging, so he coils her in blankets instead.

They weren’t in here before so he assumes the kids had brought them in, Kanan makes a mental note to thank them later. 

“Please hold me,” her usually strong voice is meak, as if she’s expecting rejection, rejection that would evidently break her by the wavering of her tone.

“Of course,” the twi’lek tucks her head under his chin, resting heavily on his chest, clinging as if he was her only life line. 

“I’m sorry,” she shakes her head at his apology, it wasn’t him that put her in chains. It wasn’t him that would haunt her forever. At least she hoped not.

“Did they do-” anger builds and she doesn’t stop shaking her head. Luckily they hadn’t, there’d been times that week she’d believed something might, but surprisingly Bib wasn’t in the business of loaning his dancers out. Likely because a pregnant dancer wasn’t very appealing.

It’s very little relief for Kanan even though it is something. The two curl together, legs winding until they are perfectly slotted together. If he is honest he doesn’t know if the waves of comfort he’s sending towards her are doing anything. Normally he can tell because it’s always been another force sensitive he was directing his energy towards. Although the stiff muscles in her back slowly deplete into something resembling relaxation, everything loosening until her body’s slack but her mind is still racing. A weird part of her misses the noise. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” her conflicted thoughts are being projected so loudly he knows Ezra can hear it too, “You are a strong _fierce_ woman, you’ve never been what society wanted to force upon you. And you are anything but weak,”

She nods if only to appease him, but her lips pull in the slightest, wanting to believe him. It’s hard not to.

“There’s my captain,” 

Fondly rolling her eyes, Hera let’s her hands drift under the Kanan’s shirt. His carmel skin blooming with warmth that eases the scratches from her free fall.

“I love you,” Kanan murmurs, and she wants to say it back but there is still so much pain, even as she falls asleep to the steadying all consuming beats of his heart, she hopes he knows she loves him too. 

**Author's Note:**

> Snap: allisonw1122  
> Tumblr/twitter: webtrinsic1122  
> Insta:Webtrinsic


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